Deviation Read online

  Deviation

  by Scott M. Williams

  Deviation

  is Copyright © 2013 by Scott M. Williams

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form

  or by any electronic means without permission in writing from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places and characters are either the

  product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously.

  Table of Contents

  1. Dianne 5

  2. Father Frank11

  3. The Paring Knife19

  4. Frank's Room26

  5. Cliff31

  6. Father Stevens42

  7. The Morning After50

  8. Reunion54

  9. Frank's Discussion62

  10. Plans69

  11. Lester84

  12. Preparations94

  13. Cleaning up102

  14. Departure112

  15. On The Road119

  16. The Toy Aisle125

  17. Dianne Takes A Trip129

  18. The News137

  19. Leaving Bellevue143

  20. An Unexpected Visitor152

  21. On The Move155

  22. Elm Street162

  23. Appropriation172

  24. Prisoners179

  25. Intrusion187

  26. Trapped193

  27. Abominations198

  28. Police206

  29. Farewell213

  Deviation

  1. Dianne

  The church was at least a century old, and from all outward appearances seemed to be abandoned. Dianne doubted there was anyone inside who could help her even if it wasn't. She stood there on the sidewalk, feeling drawn to it and yet not quite able to dismiss the foreboding sensation that was warning her to stay away.

  A weathered wooden sign poking up from the lawn of mud and weeds informed her that this was St. Paul's Episcopal Church. She studied it curiously. The church was profuse with symptoms of neglect: the ancient bricks were crumbling, and there was a chaotic accumulation of graffiti spray-painted on the walls; many of the stained glass windows were cracked or broken; even the concrete walkway was smashed and sunken. She craned her neck and looked up at the cross on the peak of the roof; the mounting was badly damaged, causing it to lean at an obscure angle. It appeared likely to come tumbling down during the next storm.

  She stood considering the church for a long time. She needed to either select it or move on. She knew she wanted to visit a church, and to talk with a priest, but she'd never done either of these things before and was feeling almost overwhelmingly confused. She knew nothing about the various religious denominations and cared even less. She simply needed advice, and something inside of her was demanding it come from a priest.

  She took a deep breath and winced. She was in a lot of pain, compliments of her boyfriend, Cliff, and it hurt when she breathed too deeply. It felt like he might have broken one of her ribs this time. She'd go to a doctor, but she hated to waste money unnecessarily when she earned so little. Besides, even if a doctor helped her she'd just end up getting the shit beaten out of her again when she got home. Calling the police wouldn't help much, either. They'd locked Cliff up in the past, and since getting out he was more vicious than ever.

  No, she needed a priest. She needed some real changes, life-altering changes, and she was convinced that this was the way to go about getting them.

  Making her way up the crumbling walkway, Dianne was careful not to slip on the patches of melting ice. It was late March, and Milwaukee was just starting to warm up after a tremendously punishing winter. She was glad it was almost over. She wished everything was almost over. She wished a meteor would collide with the earth and wipe everything out, herself included, so that there wouldn't be any more punishment or brutality or disappointment.

  She'd been wishing that for a long time, and so far it hadn't done any good.

  When she reached the end of the walkway she climbed up the slanted wooden steps and stood in front of the doors, searching for signs that the church was still operational. None were apparent. For a moment she considered simply turning around and finding some other church. There were dozens of them in the area, and most of them were in far better shape than this peculiar old wreck. Something about the place appealed to her, however, and she decided to stick with her initial instinct.

  The doors were closed and there were no markings on them. Dianne stood there, feeling confused and nervous and ready to give up. She wanted to get back in her 14 year old Ford Escort and drive home. She wanted to get drunk and go back to bed and never get up. But Cliff was there. Cliff with his fists and his aggression and his evil fucking moods. She couldn't go back there again, not after yesterday. And there was nowhere else to go.

  She lifted her hand and knocked on the door. The wood was rough with splinters and unusually thick. The sound her frail fist made on the door was barely even audible. She doubted anyone inside would hear it, unless they were standing directly beside the door.

  “Oh, god,” she muttered. “Can't I just get one little fucking break? Just one?”

  She knocked again and stood there waiting. She heard nothing from inside and no one answered the door.

  “Son of a bitch. I guess I'll just go home and let him finish me off.”

  She knocked once more and stood there, feeling cold in her ratty thrift-store jacket. No one was going to answer, she knew. It had been a stupid idea. No one had ever liked her, not really, and so why should god be any different? Perhaps god wanted her to be beaten to death. Or perhaps he just wanted her to be beaten, a little each day for fifty or sixty years, and then die. It could all be part of his plan. The thought of it infuriated her and she fought back tears as she clenched her teeth and turned the knob, shoving the door open.

  Well, the church was open now. She glanced inside, trying to determine if there was anyone there, but it was far too dark inside to be sure. She pushed the door open further and stuck her head in.

  “Hello?” she called out.

  Nothing.

  “Fucking shit,” she muttered. She didn't want to turn around, not now. She stepped up over the threshold and entered the foyer, allowing her anger to take control and lead her. Sometimes this worked to her advantage, and of course sometimes it made things much worse.

  “Hello?” she called again.

  Still nothing. She glanced around, taking in the enormity of the sanctuary. It was relatively dark in the room, but there was some scarce light filtering in through the many broken stained glass windows up near the ceiling, lending the atmosphere a sinister dimension. Rows of pews stretched out before her, all of them deserted. Up near the altar a collection of candles were on display, as if awaiting someone to come and light them. If there was anyone there to perform such a ritual, they were nowhere to be seen. She made her way deeper inside, her shoes echoing softly on the wooden floor.

  “Is anybody here?”

  She spoke louder this time, and as soon as the words were out of her mouth she heard a muffled crash from somewhere off beyond the sanctuary. She stood waiting, looking around at the vast emptiness of the place. There were many doors and hallways leading off into other areas, and within seconds she saw a dark figure emerge from one of them, near the far end of the room.

  Feeling suddenly frightened, she thought it wise to announce herself again. “Hello. I hope I'm not interrupting anything.”

  The figure stepped cautiously closer, and she could see that it
was a man. A priest, dressed up in a cassock and a clerical collar. She sensed that he was as unaccustomed to this as she was, and that visitors here were rare; maybe even unheard of.

  “Good afternoon,” he said. As he got closer, Dianne could see that he was middle-aged, probably in his late 40's and had gray hair which seemed a bit too long. He was also unshaven, which surprised her. “No, you're not interrupting anything. How can I help you?”

  She thought how best to answer. “I'm not sure, actually. I came because I need to talk with someone.”

  “Alright,” said the priest. He folded his hands in front of him. “You need spiritual guidance?”

  “I'm not sure. I just... I need to talk. I need advice. I was wondering if there's anyone here I could speak with.”

  He sighed heavily, and Dianne thought she could detect the scent of alcohol on his breath. It could have been her imagination, but she didn't think so. The priest looked very disheveled, and in the dim light she could even make out his bloodshot eyes. “You can speak with me. I'd suggest you might want to speak with the pastor, but he seems to have disappeared recently.”

  The information chilled Dianne. “It doesn't matter,” she assured him. “I'd be happy to speak with you, if you have time.”

  “Of course,” he said. He looked around the cavernous room as if noticing it for the first time. “Would you like to talk here, or shall we go sit in the kitchen?”

  “The kitchen?”

  He smiled, his teeth clean and white. “Yes. That's where I was just now. Or there are any number of empty classrooms we can use. Or the rectory...”

  “Anyplace is fine.”

  He rubbed his chin, considering. It seemed like a major decision for him and Dianne wondered briefly if she ought to think of an excuse to leave and go find another church. “I think the kitchen would be best. If you don't mind.”

  “No, I don't mind at all.”

  “Good. There are refreshments there, and I think we'll be more comfortable.”

  Dianne nodded. It sounded fine to her, although she wasn't really in the mood for refreshments. She was in the mood to speak with a priest, and it seemed as though she'd finally be doing just that. She stood there, waiting for him to lead her into the kitchen, but he remained still, gazing off into the distance. It was impossible for her to know whether this priest was strange or not, as she had no experience with priests and therefor no one to compare him to. He certainly seemed strange, but maybe all priests were like this.

  She continued to wait, and he continued to stare off into space. Beginning to feel uncomfortable, Dianne cleared her throat. “Um... should I go back to the kitchen now?”

  He looked at her, coming out of his daze. “Hmm? Oh, yes, I'm sorry. I was just thinking.”

  “Sorry to interrupt.”

  “No, no, not at all.” His gaze sharpened and he seemed to look directly inside of her. “What's your name, by the way?”

  “Dianne.”

  “Nice to meet you, Dianne. Frank. Father Frank Luciano.” He extended a hand and they shook. “Come. Let's go sit down and you can tell me what brings you here.”

  “Thank you.”

  He led her through the sanctuary then, and into the small kitchen beyond.

  2. Father Frank

  The kitchen wasn't much different from the break room where Dianne worked as a data entry clerk. There were a few tables with chairs scattered around them, a refrigerator, a sink and a microwave. There were also vending machines, and it looked as though Father Frank had obtained a bag of potato chips from one of them. The bag was lying on one of the tables, chips strewn across the surface. Beside the bag of chips was a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon.

  He quickly picked up the can and took a gulp. “Can I get you something? I've got more beer in the fridge, if you'd like.”

  Dianne stared at him, not sure what to do or say. Did she really want to seek advice from this man? This apparent fallen priest? Of course, she was rushing to judge him. Just because he hadn't shaved in a few days and was drinking beer in the middle of the afternoon inside the church didn't mean he was a bad spiritual adviser. For all she knew, he was the best.

  “Um... I don't know...”

  “It's no trouble,” Frank assured her. He tilted his head back, guzzling the last of his beer. Then he crushed the can in one fist and threw it into a small trash receptacle near the counter where it rattled around with many others. He opened the refrigerator, revealing dozens more cans of Pabst, as well as a small variety of other beer. While Dianne watched, he selected two cans of Pabst and closed the door. “I keep plenty on hand, so it's no trouble.” He held a can out to her, and after a moment of hesitation she accepted it.

  “Thank you.” She stared at it. She was kind of in the mood for a beer or two, actually. It just didn't seem right to be drinking with a priest.

  Father Frank cracked his can and took several long swallows. He was obviously a thirsty man. “Care for some chips?” He scooped a few off the table and slipped them into his mouth, crunching away. “Help yourself.”

  “No, thank you.” Dianne opened her beer and took a sip. It was good and cold and she was suddenly glad she had it.

  “How is it?” Frank asked.

  “Good. Thank you.”

  He motioned to the chairs. “Have a seat?”

  She nodded. “Alright.”

  They each sat down, Frank grabbing a few more chips and stuffing them into his mouth. He chased them with another gulp of beer. “Now. What's on your mind?”

  Dianne took another sip of her own beer, trying to loosen up. “Well... you mean I can just kind of tell you my problems, like a confession or something? I'm not sure how this works. I've never even been inside a church before.”

  “Oh.” Frank frowned thoughtfully. “Count yourself lucky.”

  She waited for more, but there was nothing else. “So... I can just tell you what happened? And maybe get some advice?”

  “Sure. I'll listen, and I'll be happy to give you some advice. That's about all I can do, really.”

  “That's fine. That might be a very big help.”

  “Okay.” He lifted his beer again and drank deep, almost finishing it off. “You don't want any bourbon, do you?”

  “Bourbon?” She had hardly touched her beer.

  “Yes. I like a little taste now and again. This stuff is getting on my nerves.” He picked up his can again and poured the last of it into his mouth. Then he crushed it and tossed it behind him, missing the trash by inches. The can clattered across the room and came to a rest near another door.

  Dianne took a drink of her beer. “I think this is good enough for me.”

  “For now it probably is,” he agreed. He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. Hang on. Let me grab something.” He got up from his seat and opened one of the cabinets above the sink. There were several bottles of booze in there and he looked them over thoughtfully. Then he slammed the cabinet and cursed, rubbing his face. He opened the refrigerator again and withdrew three more cans of beer instead. Returning to his seat, he cracked one open and took a long drink. “Okay. So what's going on? You run away from home?”

  Dianne stared at him. “I'm 26. I have an apartment, here in the city.”

  “Oh.” Frank looked her over carefully. “For some reason I thought you were younger. You look younger.”

  “Thank you.” She did have a youthful face and bright, piercing green eyes. She kept her dark hair long, at least a few inches past her shoulders.

  He nodded and drank.

  “Anyway, like I said, I have an apartment. But I can't go back to it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well...” She took another sip of beer, trying to wash away al
l the horrible thoughts and feelings that were surfacing. She'd never told anyone about Cliff before, other than the police. She wondered if she'd really be able to do this. “I have a boyfriend. That's probably not the best term for what he is, but you get the idea. He lives there with me. Well, at least he does now. He moved in even though I said he couldn't, and now I can't even go home anymore. Well, I mean, I can, but... he...” She had to stop or she'd start crying.

  “Are you trying to tell me this cowardly shit hits you?”

  She looked at him, alarmed. “What?”

  “You heard me. Does he hit you?”

  She nodded, almost imperceptibly. “How did you know that?”

  “Well, somebody does. I can see that clearly enough.”

  Dianne hung her head, ashamed. She had no idea it was so obvious. Even to a stranger.

  “Sorry,” Frank said. “Keep talking. I won't interrupt.”

  “It's okay. I...” She tried to get her thoughts and emotions in order. She was suddenly glad she was here; she needed this more than she'd realized. Maybe it would really do her some good to spill her guts to this weird priest. After a small sip of beer, she continued. “He's a deadbeat. He doesn't even work. That's why he moved in with me, because he could no longer afford his own rent. He quit his job because he thinks he's too smart and important to waste his time working, but he's just an idiot. He sits there all day and night playing video games.”

  Frank nodded. “I see.”

  “He plays the same game all the time, too. It's some stupid quest game, and he never gets tired of it. He just keeps wandering around through these caves and field, killing things with clubs and swords. He yells at them, and laughs at them. It goes on and on, and he plays it the entire time he's awake.”

  “Except when he's hitting you.”

  Dianne bit her lip. “He didn't used to hit me,” she said quietly. “That started happening more recently.”